


Hear the Cannons Go Boom

by StormLeviosa



Series: Batfam Week 2020 [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfam Week 2020, Batfamily (DCU), Brotherly Love, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Explosions, Gen, Good Older Sibling Jason Todd, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23091913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormLeviosa/pseuds/StormLeviosa
Summary: Jason is a good older brother (sometimes) so when there's an explosion at a Wayne gala, of course he goes to help.
Series: Batfam Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658641
Kudos: 214
Collections: Tales from the Cave





	Hear the Cannons Go Boom

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for Batfam Week Day 2 was hurt/comfort. I don't think I've quite done it but it's close enough.  
> Technically it was meant to go up yesterday but life happened and I didn't get around to it. It's still posted on tumblr tho!

They should have known their luck was running out when the bridge explosion last Tuesday didn’t kill anyone. In Gotham, if something that should go wrong goes right, you know the next thing that should go right will go wrong. They should have known. Jason isn’t even supposed to be here, technically. He’s still legally dead and this is a Wayne party so he really shouldn’t show his face on the off chance someone recognises him. He thinks maybe Bruce just wants to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t kill anyone on their forced night off which, rude, Jason hasn’t killed anyone in months. Unless you count that rapist, or that drug dealer selling to the kids on his block without telling them what they were buying, or that corrupt policeman trying to threaten a witness, or… ok so maybe Jason hasn’t stuck exactly to the no killing rule. But still, he doesn’t want to be here and Bruce forcing him to be is unfair and stupid. He’s an adult; he can do what he wants. It’s not like he’s actually got anything to do: not like he’s going to suck up to any of these stuffy old businessmen and rich straight white guys. He slouches against the wall and looks for a way out. Maybe he can go bother Alfred in the kitchen. He’s sure the old man could use a hand. He pushes off the wall and takes about two steps towards the door when the bomb goes off.

It’s not a large explosion, in the grand scheme of things. It takes out a pillar and a section of the wall and ceiling and completely obliterates a large statue that everyone was too afraid to say was ugly but absolutely was. Mostly it just scares people. Somehow even born-and-bred Gothamites are still scared of explosions despite them happening at least once a month. Which means Jason has to pretend to be scared too. He hasn’t missed this one bit. Everyone begins to file out into the courtyard and he can hear a couple ladies sobbing and some of those stuffy businessmen yelling because obviously yelling solves every problem. There’s a baby crying which somehow isn’t the loudest noise. The loudest noise is Bruce, or rather his Brucie persona, shouting loudly about how he can’t find one of his kids. Jason rolls his eyes. They’re Robins; they can look after themselves. But then he scans the crowd and sees Dick and Tim helping an old lady not get trampled like the good little public servants they are, and Steph and Cass still holding champagne glasses that are definitely not filled with champagne, and he even spots Duke lingering on the edges of the crowd looking out of place in his shiny new suit that sprinkled with dust. He doesn’t see Damian. And Bruce is calling for his son. Shit.

He turns right around and walks back into the building. Damn his hero-complex.

There’s still dust floating down from the ceiling and it doesn’t look like snow. There’s rubble in the corner where the bomb went off and he can hear the building groaning with the effort of not falling down around his head. That would be the cherry on top of this fantastic turn of events. He can’t pull his collar over his mouth and he’s not stupid enough to take off his suit jacket when he doesn’t know whether there’s open flames anywhere. Bruce made sure all their formal wear was flame retardant because he’s just that paranoid but it’s coming in handy now. He doesn’t cough even though the dust is tickling his throat. The lights are flickering and it’s dark in the ballroom. He can’t see Damian and he doesn’t want to call for him, doesn’t know if the bomber is still alive or still in the room. He’s going to have to search every bit of debris without making a sound and hope for the best. He tries not to remember the last time a Robin went missing in an explosion.

He checks under the tables first because he knows Damian likes to hide there. The brat thinks he’s being subtle but he forgets that Jason was the precocious problem child first and knows all the hidey-holes at parties like this one. He’s seen Damian smuggling food under there enough times. No luck. Damian is not under any of the tables that are still standing or the collapsed ones he can lift. He starts to skirt around the edge of the room, peering under piles of bricks, but finds nothing. It’s not until he reaches the far door leading out to the cloakroom, the exit closest to the explosion, that he sees a scrap of black cloth through the dim light. It’s dusty and frayed but it’s undoubtedly suit jacket material. It’s connected to an arm and as Jason gets closer he sees a tiny dark skinned hand poking out.

“Damian,” he hisses and the hand waves in his vague direction. He crouches down next to him and sees the problem. Damian is trapped by a fallen bit of statue, ironically the angel’s wings, and also clumps of bricks. He cannot move one leg at all and the rest of him is pretty much immobile as a result. He whistles lowly and ducks down beside him. “Wow, kid. You did a great job of getting yourself stuck, didn’t you?” Damian is not impressed and shoots him a withering glare. 

Jason’s had plenty of emergency response training, first aid training, even surgical training so he’s well aware of the risks as he removes some of the debris from Damian’s body. He checks for bleeding as he goes and thankfully finds none. Damian stays conscious and bitter the whole time and snaps at him that he’s taking too long. At least the brat isn’t in shock. Finally all he has to remove is the statue and he can tell without even touching it that it’s going to be too heavy to lift unless Damian can move on his own. But the statue’s been crushing his leg so the chances of him being able to are slim even though they’re Robins. Being a vigilante doesn’t exempt you from human limits like not being able to move when your leg’s been crushed. So, basically they’re stuck until the emergency services are here. Joy.

Damian doesn’t think the bomber’s in the room anymore which is good. They can talk normally. Damian tries to persuade Jason to lift the statue off his leg so they can get out. Jason refuses because he’s not fucking stupid, he knows when something’s beyond their capabilities. Damian responds with some ridiculous excuse about how he’s ‘Batman’s blood son and genetically superior and can deal with it’ which no, you can’t, kid, just wait for the professionals. Said kid doesn’t want to wait. Fair enough, Jason wouldn’t want to wait either. Still not lifting it though.

The emergency services show up quickly because they always show up quicker for the rich and famous and who’s richer or more famous than Bruce Wayne? They’re nice and polite though and take Damian’s griping in their stride. They tell Jason he did a good job and he tries not to be too smug. He slips out the back while they get him free and secured, joins the crowd again. He wants to see Bruce’s face when he sees Damian. It’ll probably be the most amusing part of the night.

Damian hasn’t broken his leg, it’s just badly bruised, but Bruce benches him anyway and he gets to witness the temper tantrum that Damian pulls when he finds that out. It’s hilarious. He decides to stay at the manor that night while everyone else is out on patrol, partly because he wants to avoid the majority of the bats as much as possible, partly because Alfred made bread that has his name on it, and partly just to piss off Damian. He’s good at pissing people off and Damian’s particularly easy. They’re both in the library, Damian with a sketch pad and Alfred the cat and Jason with one of Bruce’s many many books that he never reads. They’ve agreed to sit in silence after Jason annoyed Damian so much he got a knife thrown at his head and Alfred told them if they couldn’t behave they'd have to go to bed. They know better than to argue. Jason checks the clock and reminds Damian to put on his ointment. Damian scowls at him but gets up anyway. He returns not long after and they resume their silence.

“I never thanked you,” Damian begins stiffly. “For what you did. Though you did very little, really.” Jason takes it for what it is: an expression of gratitude.

“Aww, kid. You don’t have to thank me. Anything for my little bro!” He dodges another knife aimed at his head. Everything’s back to normal.


End file.
